Thursday, August 23, 2012

My Grandpa

The world seems so much more empty when the people you grew up with have died. I'm rattling around in it.  I meant to write....weeks ago - no, months ago

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

Late with end of summer post...

I meant to post an "end of summer wrap-up" but I'm late. No surprise! I think my goals for summer were to learn Spanish, study for my doctoral exams, and make some money.
I stopped studying Spanish halfway through the summer...hablo espanol un poco...pero...  I'll get back to my training when I have time.
I have studied approximately 30-40 hours per week for 15 weeks...for a 17 hour test.
I made NO money this summer. The THREE jobs I had did not work out- I quit my research job, thinking I could count on the other two, but they did not come through for me. One job decided they didn't need me this summer after using me for 3 years, the other job kept saying they'd start me soon...and my start date is now sometime in September.

Right now, I'm trying to get my two classes going with lesson plans AND ETC. as I'm readying for the beginning of the exams next Monday. I have panic attacks all day long- ALL DAY LONG- and can't sleep. I'll be so happy to get the exams over with. My god.

Saturday, August 18, 2012

What is remembered versus What is remembered.

You remember every moment of the before and I remember every moment of the after.
After- your plane landed in Atlanta and we pulled off at every rest stop to buy candy and to kiss on the picnic tables. After- you couldn't let me go in the aisle at the grocery store. After- we drove all night from New Mexico and still you reached for me at 3am.

After- we bought a mattress together, and a Christmas tree. After- the deserted beach in Puerto Rico and our towels hidden in the crevice of a rock. After- we moved from one bed to the other in the cabin on the lake.  After- the lights on the canal at Christmastime. After- the beach at Santa Monica, the fires burning on the pier to ward off the cold, even in August.
After: The honeywine, the menus in Deutsch, the Orthodox chapels from the train windows- all of this.

After- the what remains. The hotel across the bay from Manhattan. The bitter melds with the sweet until they are the same. Everything after. The after. The veins that map across my hands. The bottles of pills. The ashtrays. The living room rug. Monday trash days. This is what I keep remembering.